You Pick the Animal
by whimseyrhodes
Summary: Inspired by 'The Benders....what if they had decided to hunt Sam instead of trying to kill him? Oneshot? Obviously not heheh. Complete! finally:
1. You Pick the Animal

Disclaimers: Duh, they ain't mine, no money made, don't sue (cause it ain't worth the pocket lint).

Summary: Inspired by 'The Benders"...what if they had decided to hunt Sam instead of trying to kill him? One-shot? You tell me...;)

**You Pick the Animal**

Dean sat helpless, tied to the chair as Pa Bender whispered angrily in his ear.

"Alright, you wanna play games? We'll play some games. Looks like we're gonna have a hunt tonight after all boys!" he said happily to his sons, then looked at Dean, the swift flicker of hatred flowing across his features. "And you get to pick the animal: the boy, or the cop."

Dean gasped in shock, then tried to gather his wits in order to come up with something, some truth, some fabrication, _anything_, that would make them back down.

"Wait, wait...no, look, nobody's comin' for me, alright...it's just us."

"You don't choose, I will," said the madman as he waved the poker in Dean's view, then without warning pushed it into the flesh of his left shoulder.

Dean bellowed in pain and anger, struggling against the grip the son had on his head.

"OH!...You...Son-of-a-BITCH!"

The poker was thrust into Dean's face, the yellow tip sizzling, shining off the sweat of Dean's cheek, his eye widening in fear.

"Next time I'll take an eye."

That was it, he couldn't hunt without sight. He silently begged Sam to forgive him as he yelled, "Alright, _alright_! The guy, the guy, take the guy!" Sam could take care of himself in a fight, and there was a good chance that Sam would be able to turn the tables on this wacked out family.

Pa Bender removed the key from around his neck and handed it to his son.

"Lee, go do it."

The man grinned in glee as he went to let loose the 'animal'.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam was sitting in the cage, confident that Dean would find the key and that the next footsteps he heard would be his brothers'. The bolt on his cage retracted, and without thought, Sam rose from his cramped position and exited the cell. He waited a few moments by the cage that held the sherrif, thinking that hers would be the next one opened, when the bolt on his cage slid shut.

He whirled around and looked at it in horror.

"Uh-oh," he gulped.

Kathleen looked up at him, confusion on her face. "What's wrong? Why are you looking at the cell like that?"

"Because last time that happened, the guy who's cell was unlocked was the next to be hunted," Sam said quietly. "I thought Dean found the release to the cages..."

"It wasn't him, was it," Kathleen said, the inflection in her tone making it a statement, not a question.

"No. I'm the next prey."

Sam thought furiously for a moment, then, "I can't get you out of the cage, what I have to do is draw them away, then circle back to the house. Hopefully I'll be able to find Dean, get you out, then we'll all get the hell out of here."

"Good luck," she said holding out her hand. The deputy knew it was their only chance, but she was still scared. The young man looked barely old enough to have graduated high school, much less be able to take on three crazed, but obviously skilled, hunters.

Sam nodded and gripped the proffered hand, then slunk quietly to the door, and vanished through it into the cold night.

**oooOOOooo**

Dean watched as Sam slipped through the barn door and faded into the darkness like a shadow. The sickos had moved his chair so he could see the beginning of their 'hunt'. If he hadn't been looking at that spot at that precise time, he would have missed him. Dean felt a surge of pride in the skills of his baby brother. 'You keep it up, Sammy. Show them that hunting a Winchester is worse than any other hunt of their lives.' Dean's thoughts turned bloodthirsty. 'And if they harm so much as a hair on your head, they'll be the next ones hanging on their trophy walls, I swear to God.'

Missy hummed an eerie, off-key child's melody as Dean settled in to wait through the next few hours of hell.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam ran low over the muddy ground, intent on getting to the edge of the forest, when a reflection in the moonlight caught his eye. He crouched, tuning his senses to his surroundings as he picked up and tested the blade. It was old, kind of rusty, but it was secure in the hilt and still held an edge. Good enough. In the hands of the previous amateurs, the knife was a help as well as a hindrance, giving confidence, but sometimes cockiness. In the hands of Sam Winchester, though, it became an extension of the claws and fangs this deadly animal already possessed, more dangerous than the cougar that Pa had boasted of in his kills.

Grabbing the knife in an easy back-handed grip, he started for the woods once again, his long legs easily eating up the ground and bringing him to cover in mere seconds. He quickly scanned the area, and chose a denser path than he normally would have, suspecting that the Benders had set some unexpected 'surprises' on the more well-worn trails. His lithe body slid through the undergrowth easily, the branches barely rustling as he moved deeper into the wilds like a child of the forest.

He kept his eyes moving, darting from tree to ground and up overhead, hypersensitive to any tripwires that might be hidden. The dim light of the moon enhanced the silvery edges of the leaves and grasses, and more than once he spied traps and easily avoided them. His acute hearing alerted him to the others trying to pick up his trail, and he grinned as he heard them bickering when they temporarily lost it. Sam came to a small clearing and picked up a couple of rocks from the ground. Zeroing in on his hunters, he threw one rock as hard as he could to his left, then crouched in the bushes to wait until they headed off in that direction.

Waiting for a few moments, Sam rose and tossed another rock to his right. The distant sounds of the three hunters stilled, then continued, now in two places. The hunters knew this was a trick, tossed rocks were often used, but they weren't worried. Their over-confidence told them that they could easily handle this whelp.

Back in the clearing, Sam stayed silent until he could distictively hear the sounds of the lone hunter, then crept from his hiding place to turn the tables on the Benders.

Sam moved slowly through the unfamaliar terrain, aware that this was the hunters' playground, not his. He paused often, tracking the lone hunter with his hearing, and then his sight as single man came into view, rifle poised to shoot. Sam eased into the shadow of a tree, resisting making sharp movements that would alert the other to his presence. He gripped the knife tighter in his hand and sprang onto the other man's back, knocking him to the ground. The rifle went spinning into the underbrush as the two men grappled, Sam desperately trying to keep the Bender from yelling to his father or brother.

Sam pounced on Jared as he tried to rise, taking his legs out from under him. Jared fell on top of Sam, but the younger Winchester rolled free. His opponent grabbed a wickedly long hunting knife from his boot and waved it menacingly at Sam. He was unnerved when the blade didn't seem to terrify his prey. Instead, the younger man fell into a fighting crouch, his own blade held skillfully in his right hand. Jared began to realize that this wasn't one of their ordinary, cowering victims. He opened his mouth to yell for his father when Sam lunged straight at him, slapping his pitiful defense aside and plunging his rusty knife deep into his throat, silencing him forever.

Rolling to his knees, Sam forced his heaving stomach to quiet. He had never killed a man before, not like this. He tried to tell himself that it was self-defense, but then relentlessly pushed all thoughts other than survival to the back of his mind. He would deal with that later.

Sam picked up Jared's knife from the forest floor and resumed his hunt. One down, two to go.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam backtracked through the woods, following Jared's trail as well as he could, until he heard the other two talking in low voices.

"...shouldn't'a split up, pa..."

" Shut up, boy...hunting longer'n you..."

"...think 'e got Jared?" followed by a slap.

"Don' sass me, boy!" An angry whisper.

Sam started to back away when his foot caught on a tree root, causing him to stumble. The two hunters spun around, and the brother fired three rounds into the woods before Pa slapped the barrel of the rifle into the air.

"You stupid little shit! 'Coulda been Jared, you think 'a that?"

"Sorry, pa," said a meek voice.

The father just nodded curtly and directed his son to scout to the left of the tree cluster, as he went around to the right.

The moon came out from behind the clouds for a moment and illuminated the trees, showing a fresh splatter of blood on the bark. The patriarch grinned evilly as he caressed the blood, then lifted his hand to his mouth and licked it off his fingers. The pair followed the trail of dark liquid deeper into the woods.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam held his breath as the pair walked past him. He had backtracked on his own trail, daring to hide closer to the hunters, rather than expend his energy in trying to run. They had nearly passed his hiding spot when his luck ran out again. The moon came out once more and the father saw one of Sam's footprints that had not _quite _matched the trail he wanted them to follow. Turning, he glimpsed Sam's face before he bolted from behind the tree.

"GIT 'EM!" the father yelled to his son.

The young man dove after his prey, catching Sam in the middle of the back and knocking him into the mud. Sam grunted as Lee landed on his back, putting pressure on the bullet graze in his side. He jackknifed his body and threw the Bender brother off him, then rolled swiftly to his feet and flung himself at the other man, knowing he had to disable him quickly. The two grappled in the cold mud for a few moments, Sam's desperate energy fighting the larger man's brute strength, neither willing to yield. A shot startled them both as Pa Bender fired his rifle, but Sam refused to stop fighting. To stop fighting would be to die. He took advantage of the other man's hesitation and wrenched his arm behind his back in a fierce hold.

"Stop it right NOW!" the father roared as he took aim.

Sam used Lee's unsteady momentum to turn him around just as his father fired once more. The bullet hit the youngest Bender brother in the chest, and Sam was too startled to do anything but let him fall, staring down at the body in shock.

Pa nearly dropped the rifle in horror, appalled at what he had just done. Enraged, he raised the rifle and fired at Sam again, but his shock hampered his aim. Sam turned and fled into the woods, the eldest hunter close on his heels.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam's breath came in harsh spurts now, he had long since given up being quiet, and he ran as fast as he could, knowing the last hunter was right behind him. He tried to remember in which direction the house was, but the darkness of the forest was confusing to him. He had barely escaped two traps that were laid out; one tripwire that at the last second he was able to jump over, and one pile of leaves that didn't look right that he avoided just in case. The third trap he didn't see. He flew over the trail, finally seeing the house through a clearing, and his eagerness to get to Dean overwhelmed his caution. As he put his left foot down, he felt it give just a little, and threw his body to the side.

He wasn't quite fast enough.

The arrow that had been aimed for his heart slammed into the back of his right shoulder with enough force to throw him to the ground. He lay dazed for a few moments, and that was long enough for the father to catch up to him.

"I got'cha now, you animal," he sneered angrily. "And you gonna pay for what you done to my boys!"

Sam gripped the knife under his body and waited until the bigger man grabbed his arm and tried to yank him up. He lashed out with the knife, catching the other man in the left forearm. Growling in pain and anger now, the father threw Sam forcefully against a tree. Darkness climbed out of the tunnel and dragged Sam under.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam was only unconcious for a few minutes, but when he awoke, his arms and wrists were bound behind his back with rough rope, and Pa was just finishing tying his ankles as well. Roughly the patriarch grabbed the rope tied around Sams upper arms and started to drag the young man towards the house. The arrow was still lodged in his back and the pain became too much for him. Blackness surrounded him, and with a strangled gasp, he fell into it again.

**oooOOOooo**

Bored, Dean was going through his mental list of Metallica songs again, trying to get the awful sound of the girl's psychotic humming out of his head when he heard footsteps pound on the front porch.

"Missy!"

The filthy girl ran to the front of the house to do her father's bidding, leaving Dean to fret. _Sam _was supposed to get him out of here, _Sam _was supposed to come back, not the father!

Dean gasped in horror as the father came into the entry of the living room, dragging Sam's wet, muddy body, trussed up like a wounded animal, and dropping him roughly on the floor before stalking out of sight. Sam lay unmoving, his arms pulled viciously tight behind his back, wrapped with thick rope around his upper arms and wrists. An arrow shaft stuck out from his upper back somewhere, and there was a dark stain on his right side. His thighs and ankles were also bound with rope. From what Dean could see under the shaggy hair that halfway obscured Sam's face, there were bruises starting to form around his neck and on his cheeckbone, and blood dripped from his nose.

"Sam..._Sammy_," Dean whispered. "Sammy, bro, wake up. Please, wake up Sammy."

The old turntable was cranked up again, and a staticky old jazz record was played, its levity contrasting harshly with the dark, musty atmosphere of the dilapidated house and its insane occupants. Dean could hear thumps and banging in the kitchen, and wondered what the two Benders were up to. A few minutes later, the father returned and grabbed Sam again, this time by the hair, and dragged him into the room beyond, leaving Dean's imagination to drop into overdrive at every sound he heard. He yelled and swore colorfully but they ignored him.

For a long while Dean heard nothing but scrapes and soft commands given to the girl. Then he heard a scream and a strangled moan come from his brother's throat.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled. "Let him go _you sick sonuvaBITCH!_"

Dean renewed his earlier struggles to free himself. The ropes were rough, but the blood oozing from his wrists had made them loose and slippery. He pulled as hard as he could, his back arching with the effort and the veins in his neck standing out in sharp relief. He threw back his head and clenched his teeth and concentrated on _Sam_ as he ripped his wrist from its painful prison. Dean clutched his wounded wrist to his stomach and tried to quiet his ragged gasps for air. Calmer, he reached into his pocket for his swiss army knife and cut the ropes on his other wrist and ankles. 'Stupid, not to check for weapons,' he thought. 'Makes it easier for me to thin the herd though, I guess.'

He crept forward and dared a glance into the room, then jerked his head back, his mind swirling with the images. 'Fucked up, dude, sooooo fucked up!' was all he could logically think of.

He had seen the dirty kitchen, the stained walls with its peeling plaster, dishes covered with grime littered all along the countertops. A single lightbulb hung from a thin chain, giving little light and covering nearly everything with shadows. To the forefront was an old counter, chipped and covered with dirt and old blood, with all kinds of knives, saws and other tools arrayed haphazardly on its surface. A table in the center of the kitchen looked like it was an old slab that someone would clean large game on. The surface was butcher-block, with grooves along the edges to catch the blood, and a metal bucket attached to the side to catch the refuse. This one was modified a bit, in that there were large eyebolts screwed into it at the sides and foot. In one corner of the kitchen stood Missy, her hair covering half of her face, head cocked pitifully to one side, but the one eye that showed was entranced by the tiny knife she still held in her hands. The father stood at the sink with his back to the cleaning table, on which lay Sam. Most of his clothes had been removed and discarded in a heap on top of some of the dishes, leaving him in just his jeans. His wrists were tied to the eyebolts at the sides of the table, his ankles to the end. There was further bruising on his chest and arms, but what worried Dean the most was the blood that was running from his right shoulder into the blood grooves.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam remembered being dragged towards the house, the fiery stabs of pain from his shoulder that caused him to black out. He remembered being dropped onto a hard floor, and feeling the mud puddle beneath his body. He remembered hearing someone whispering his name, and then he remembered the all-consuming agony that raced from his shoulder to devour his entire body and then fled into his brain; he remembered the blinding flash that was followed by nothing.

He felt cold now. The pain had receeded, now his body ached all over, deep in his joints and bones. The cold seeped into his muscles, making the ache in his skull throb in time with his heartbeat.

His eyes fluttered open and the darkness slowly fell back. He could see a dirty ceiling with a single lightbulb hanging on a chain, swinging and casting dancing shadows on the walls. Macabre mobiles of bone, hair and feathers hung from hooks on the ceiling, and the movement of the light sent them swinging all around Sam's fevered vision. He shifted his eyes to the side and saw the light glinting off of a collection of knives that sat displayed along the top of the counter. Old brown stains and newer burgundy ones covered the counter under the knives and dripped down out of Sams field of view. His stomach started to rebel again, and he clenched his teeth to force the revulsion down.

Movement to the side caught his eye and he watched in detached shock as the father approached him with a murderous mask on his face and a bloody saw in his fist.

Sam closed his eyes and heard a tinny 'drip, drip, drip' sound that came from near his head, but in the muddiness of his brain the sound quickly swirled away.

He heard a louder sound now, a crash and yelling, then a quiet command.

He felt evil coming closer to him and struggled to open his eyes again as he felt a tiny hand close around his throat and squeeze.

**oooOOOooo**

Dean let his rage fill him and he knocked over the first thing he could reach, an old coat rack, swinging it furiously into the wall. The father came running out of the kitchen then, wielding a bloody hacksaw. The oldest Winchester swung the coat rack at the man, catching him in the ribs with the top hooks. Bender fell to the side, and Dean jumped on top of him, pinning the saw under one knee as he buried the tiny swiss army knife into the stomach of his opponent. The knife didn't do any mortal damage, but it was painful enough to bring fear into the insane man's mind.

Dean saw the fear, but it was rapidly consumed again by madness. The father threw Dean off of him and started to attack him again as Dean scuttled along the floor, searching for a weapon. As Bender launched himself, Dean's fingers found the weapon he sought: a homemade short spear, sharpened and crudely covered with metal scraps. He braced it on the floor just as the patriarch landed on him, driving the spear into his own body.

"...you'll pay...just like that...boy...killed my sons..." Bender coughed, blood splattering onto Dean's face.

"Missy...kill 'im!" The father yelled weakly as he died.

Dean dropped the body of the Bender patriarch with disgust, and ran to the kitchen, knowing that if the girl had heard her father, she could slit Sam's throat with ease.

He grabbed the doorframe and swung around into the kitchen. Missy stood at the head of the table, her small hand around Sam's neck. Sam's mouth was open, gasping for oxygen. Dean darted around the table and grabbed her by the arm and yanked her away from Sam, then tossed her to the side. She collided with one of the kitchen cabinets and slid to the floor, dazed.

Dean ignored her as his hand found a knife and began to saw at the ropes binding his brother to the table. Freeing him at last, he gently gathered Sam's limp body to his chest and held him, stroking his long hair with a shaking hand.

"You're safe now, Sammy. You're safe."

Safe now. He dared to hope.

**oooOOOooo**

A/N: Want more? Let me know...;)


	2. Big Trouble in Little Packages

Disclaimers: Duh, they ain't mine, no money made, don't sue (cause it ain't worth the pocket lint).

Summary: Inspired by 'The Benders"...what if they had decided to hunt Sam instead of trying to kill him?

A/N: One-shot...heh, as if you guys would let me? I thought not.

Thank you to all my reviewers, and thanks **_bunches _**to my returning reviewers (I love ya, my peeps!): Adara-chan15, Kaewi, WildWolfFree, Windyfontaine, CrazyDisaster (yes, I did kill off the Bender _boys_, heheh), HarvestMoonChild, Anamalia-fear, and Pixel-0!

WARNING: Smarm alert! (heh)

**Big Trouble in Little Packages**

"You're safe now, Sammy. You're safe."

Safe now. He dared to hope.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam lingered in the soft black water of unconciousness, the gentle waves he floated in carressed his wounded body and fragile spirit as he fought with the guilt of Lee and Jared Bender's deaths. Logically, he knew he had done it in self defense, but Sam Winchester's soul wasn't made for logic, it was made for compassion and an overwhelming desire to protect the innocent.

Through the muffling darkness that surrounded him he could hear a voice calling into the void. He could hear the love in the voice, but also the worry. For some reason he knew he was the reason for that worry, and the need to reassure the other propelled him to the surface of his concioussness.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam's eyes blinked as he tried to focus, and then he wished he hadn't. The hanging mobiles of fur and bone were still dangling above his head, dancing in the flickering light of the naked bulb. He was still lying on the butcher-block table, and he could feel Dean untying his ankles. He groaned.

"Sam? Hey, Sammy," Dean was at the head of the table in an instant, his hand resting softly on his brother's forehead.

"Stop...the...world," Sam managed.

"...huh?"

"I wanna get off," he finished.

"Funny, Sam, funny. Gonna throw that 'Extreme' tape away now," Dean said.

"Yesss."

Hearing the chuckle amidst the pain, Dean grinned as he finished untying Sam's bonds. He didn't trust any of the cloths or towels in the filthy kitchen to be anywhere near sanitary, so he took off his jacket and stripped off his long-sleeved shirt, tearing it into strips for bandages. The gash along Sam's side wasn't very deep, and it had stopped bleeding, so Dean turned his attention to the arrow wound in his shoulder.

"Hey Sam, when I saw you in the living room, that arrow had been in your back, so why is there a wound in front?" Dean asked as he cut off Sam's ripped t-shirt, partly to keep Sam concious. He placed the knife he was using on the table beside Sam's legs.

"Bastards used a...broadhead. Wouldn't come back out the...way it went in, so...they pushed it...out the other side." Sam was panting by the time he finished with the short explanation.

_Oh God_, Dean thought, _that's why he screamed so badly. I'm gonna kill'em. Again._

Trying to keep the disgust off his face, he continued to wrap his brother's shoulder, using the other shirt for padding. Sam winced a few times, but was silently stoic, even though his shoulder was burning in agony.

"OK, dude, you're wrapped up like a christmas present, so let's get while the getting is good."

Dean slipped his arm behind Sam's back and gently helped him into a sitting position. Sam's head whirled at the change of position, and he gripped his brother's shoulder to steady himself. Head bowed, he fought for equilibrium. He raised his head...

...and saw Missy standing behind Dean, arm raised. There was a cleaver in her hand, and she started to bring it down into Dean's back.

"NO!" Sam yelled as he pushed Dean to the side, grabbing the knife by his hip, and instinctively plunged it into her ribs, hitting her heart. Missy growled as she glared at him, all sanity long fled, and slumped to the floor.

Sam stood in shock, bloody knife in his hands, as Dean rushed to his side.

"Sam. Sam!" Dean shook Sam's arm as he pried the weapon from his slack hand. "Sam, look at me."

Sam looked at him, his haunted eyes boring into Dean's soul. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor, landing in Dean's protective embrace. They sat on the floor for a few long moments, Dean purposefully keeping himself between Sam and the body of the little monster who lay in a pool of blood.

Finally, Sam began to stir, and Dean lumbered to his feet and helped Sam up, then pulled his leather jacket over Sam's shoulder.

Quirking an eyebrow at Dean, he asked, "What if I..."

"Bleed on it and die, bitch."

"Jerk."

**oooOOOooo**

Dean and Sam stumbled down the steps of the rickety old house into the front yard. Sam was walking under his own power, but Dean knew that with the combination of blood loss, cold, and shock, his reserves were going to be depleted in short order. He had to get his little brother somewhere safe and warm, and soon.

The other problem he had was the deputy. He had found another key in Pa Bender's pocket, so he steered Sam to the barn. They didn't bother to be stealthy; Dean barreled the door open, and helped Sam sit on a stack of hay bales before he opened her cell.

"What happened, are you two OK?" Kathleen asked.

"We've been better," Dean said plainly, not even trying for his trademark flirtatousness.

"And the freaks?"

He looked her straight in the eye. "Not a problem anymore."

She looked back, reading the answers in his deep green gaze, then looked over at his 'cousin', covered in blood. She knew then, that the Benders were all dead. She also knew that in Dean's place, had it been her brother sitting on the hay bales, shivering, she would have done the same thing.

She nodded and said nothing.

Spotting her jacket behind the cage, she went over and picked it up, discovering the rest of her equipment, including her gun belt and radio.

"You know that I'll have to report this. State Patrol will probably be here in about an hour."

Dean winced.

"I suggest you be long gone by then."

He knew she was giving them a way out.

"I don't mean to press my luck, but any chance of catching a ride outta here? Our car is still at the station." He shrugged as he scratched his head and gave her a 'Winchester' grin.

She looked at the belt in her hands, and slowly opened one of the key pouches. Pulling out a Harley Davidson keychain with a single key on it, she handed it to Dean.

"Remember that black Mustang outside?"

Dean nodded, looking at her. Her emotions: the sadness, the pain, and the acceptance, ran like liquid over her features.

"Take good care of it."

"Like she were my own," he said gently, taking the keys reverently.

She knew he would keep his word. The beauty of his own Impala proved that he cared about cars almost as much as he cared about Sam.

She watched him walk back over to his 'cousin' and gently help him to his feet. Dean pulled Sam's arm over his shoulders and they started to walk to the door of the barn.

"Oh, and Dean?"

They paused, Dean looked back at her.

"If your 'usual playmates' come calling, give them my number for a while. Take some time off."

**oooOOOooo**

A/N: Yeah, really short chapter, but I wanted you guys to know that I'm working on it...k? K.


	3. A Bit of Darkness

Disclaimers: Duh, they ain't mine, no money made, don't sue (cause it ain't worth the pocket lint).

Summary: Inspired by 'The Benders"...what if they had decided to hunt Sam instead of trying to kill him? One-shot? Obviously not. :D

Pixel-O:...it wasn't a Mustang? huh. oh well, the Continuity Gods demand that I keep it as such for this story, so forgive me for the whoopsie, 'tay? ;)

A/N: Sorry sorry sorry! it's taken sooo long to get this chappy up. RL is a bitch and I'd like to smack her. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Oh yeah, no Wincest unless you read it in, 'cause thats just squicky...;)

**A Bit of Darkness**

"Oh, and Dean?"

They paused, Dean looked back at her.

"If your 'usual playmates' come calling, give them my number for a while. Take some time off."

**oooOOOooo**

Dean led Sam slowly to the junkyard of old rusted out cars behind the barn. He spotted the Mustang that had belonged to the officer's brother. There were layers upon layers of dust on its roof and hood that spoke of years of obvious neglect, but in her previous life, the black beauty had been a well cared-for princess. Opening a slightly creaky passenger door, he eased Sam onto the seat, then tucked his legs into the car.

"Dude, you are _not_ putting those filthy, muddy feet into my car. I'm going to go back and get your sneakers and..."

"No, Dean," Sam said quietly, "I just wanna get out of here."

Dean hesitated, and then, "Okay. You're the boss. But just for tonight."

Sam didn't seem to hear, so Dean walked around the car and slid into the driver's seat, crossing his fingers as he turned the key.

Coughing a couple of times, the Mustang roared to life with a full-throated grumble, then settled down into a purr as Dean shifted her into drive.

Keeping his hand securely on the back of Sam's neck (for _Sam's_ comfort, he told himself), he drove back toward town.

**oooOOOooo**

Dean parked the Mustang on a side street until all of the squad cars had left the parking lot, lights and sirens blaring, apparently going to Kathleen's aid. Once they were gone, they switched cars, and Dean continued to drive into the night. He had checked Sam's bandages and hadn't seen any fresh bleeding, so he opted to continue driving and get as far away from Hibbing as they could before dawn.

Just before the bright fingers of sunrise began to creep over the horizon, Dean finally pulled into a shabby motel just off the highway. There were no cars in the parking lot, but just to be safe, he asked for the room at the far end of the building, as he always did when one of the brothers was wounded. He reserved the room, reparked the car, and began to jostle Sam into wakefulness. Two exhausted eyes blinked open, and Sam turned his head toward Dean, not even bothering to lift it up off the headrest.

"Sorry, bro, gotta get you inside before you immolate."

"...'m not a bloodsucker," he mumbled.

"No, from the looks of it, you're a blood donor."

A one-fingered salute was all the response he received. "Come on, Sammy," he said as he lifted his young brother out of the seat, "Up and at 'em."

Reluctantly Sam rose from the car, stumbled into Dean, and would have fallen less-than-gracefully onto his face if not for the secure grip Dean had on his waist. He recovered his equilibrium slowly, and let Dean lead him to the safety of the motel room and the relative comfort of the bed inside.

Dean sat Sam on the edge of the bed and gently eased the jacket off, wincing inwardly every time Sam gasped or hissed in pain. That done, he checked the crude bandages, and decided to exchange them for more sterile ones. The shirt had stopped the bleeding, but just was not going to work for long term. He began to unwind the ragged strips from Sam's shoulder when Sam began to sway. Catching his brother by the shoulders, he laid him down then swung his legs up onto the bed. Sam's eyes were half open, and Dean checked his pupils. No delayed reaction, pupils were the same size. Good, no head injury. He decided that Sam was finally succumbing to blood loss and exhaustion. He continued to gently clean and rebandage the wounds as Sam drifted to sleep.

**oooOOOooo**

When Sam woke up, the final rays of sunset were shining weakly through the crack in the window shades. He tried to sit up and found it awkward. His right side protested, and his right arm was bound to his chest. As he moved, the lightning monster that had been sleeping in his shoulder crackled to life and struck him fiercely.

He wasn't aware that he had made a sound until Dean knelt beside the bed with a glass of water in his hand. He slipped his other hand under Sam's head and lifted it up, placing the glass to his lips so he could drink.

His eyes closed in pleasure as the cool water slid down his throat and into his empty stomach, seeping into all of the dry cracks along the way. He made a small sound of protest as the water was taken away.

"That's enough for now Sammy," he heard as a cloth was placed on his forehead. He hadn't realized how hot he was until then, but now he felt a growing fire in his limbs, and his pulse thudded deafeningly in his head. He swallowed and tried to say something, but the lightning monster gnawed at his shoulder again and the pain forced him down into darkness.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam wandered the dark nightmare halls of his dreams where disjointed images tormented him. The walls seemed to undulate and bulge, the hallways twisted upon themselves and warped back, and the lights dimmed and then turned red. The many disgusting peices of bone and fur that hung from the ceilings brushed along his face as he turned around, startling him into a gasp. He regretted inhaling, because then he smelled the rank, sour stench of unwashed bodies and sweat, filth, and the unmistakable copper tang of blood.

There were noises all around him. From the corners of his eyes he saw people and things waver at the edge of his vision, but when he turned his head to look, they were gone. A scratchy jazz record still played, its' jangling notes grating on his nerves and sending a fire through his brain. His head throbbed in rythym and his breathing was rapid and shallow.

The young hunter was being hunted in the halls; he heard the sounds of scuffling feet and the sharp 'whisk' of a knife being sharpened on a whetstone. He started to run from the sound, but the ever warping floor tripped him. He fell to his knees and struggled to rise. As he did, a figure came aroung the corner. It's hair was straggly, the beard unkept and streaked with grey. Pa Bender carried a long knife, swinging it back and forth in front of him, as if trying to gut Sam. He looked into the father's eyes and saw only blackness, and when he opened his mouth, it was filled with rows and rows of sharply pointed teeth.

Sam screamed in terror.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam screamed in his sleep, tossing and turning in the grip of his fever. Dean had stripped Sam down to his boxers in an effort to keep him cool, and he continued to sponge his younger brothers' body with water that he had added rubbing alchohol to. The quickly evaporating liquid aided in cooling his body temperature enough that they could avoid the hospital, but he was still worried at the nightmares that seemed to torment Sam. He knew that Sam was especially vulnerable to nightmares, and the horrible night they had lived through was only fuel for the fire.

Finally, Dean decided that he needed to take more drastic action. He dared to leave Sam for a moment to plug the bathtub and start running cold water into it. Running back to his brother, he was torn, but knew he needed to get ice. He grabbed the ice bucket and, with a rare prayer on his lips, raced to the ice machine down the hall and filled the bucket. When he returned, Sam was still on the bed, thrashing and trying to push something away from him. Dean gathered him into his arms, whispering soothing noises and stroking his face and neck to try to calm him. It took a few minutes, but Sam seemed to calm a bit, and Dean took the moment of peace to scoop him into his arms and carry his tall, lanky brother into the bathroom and place him gently into the tub of cold water.

The reaction was instantaneous. Sam yelled at the shocking temperature and his eyes flew open. His muddled mind saw Dean holding him and instinctively he began to fight. Dean tried to keep his grip on Sam's arms, but the water made his skin slippery. Soon, however, Sam slipped back into unconciousness and started to slide down the edge of the bathtub. Dean slid his arm under Sam's shoulders, holding him as he scooped up water to bathe his face and neck as Sam lay against his arms, shivering.

Sam's eyes fluttered and opened weakly, and focused slowly on his brother's face.

"...gonna kiss...me now?" Sam asked, lips twitching in the barest beginning of a grin.

"Hell, no. I do that and you'd drown, jerk." Dean wasn't about to admit that at that moment, he almost would, in purest joy at seeing his baby brother's hazel eyes.

"Dean?" Sam's quaking voice brought him out of his brief reverie.

"Yeah?"

"...f-f-f-freezing, here!"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," Dean said under his breath.

He helped Sam sit up as he pulled the plug, then wrapped him in a large towel and pulled him up to sit on the edge of the tub, perching beside him to make sure he didn't fall over. When Sam indicated he was ready to go back to the bedroom, he draped Sam's arm over his shoulders and they walked slowly back to the main room.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed and Dean started to remove the bandages and sling on Sam's right arm, since they had gotten soaked in the water. Surreptitously checking Sam's body temperature by feel as he unwound the bandages, Dean was confident that the fever had broken.

Skillfully, he wrapped new dressings on Sam's wounds, then went back into the bathroom to 'clean up' as Sam struggled into a dry pair of shorts. When he heard no more noises and soft swearing, he returned and found Sam curled up on his left side, halfway under the blankets, asleep.

Dean grabbed the opportunity to catch a few hours of rest for himself, and soon was sleeping lightly in the other bed.

**oooOOOooo**

Dean woke up almost four hours later, the sounds of Sam whimpering in his sleep had warned him of another nightmare. He eased out of bed and sat down behind his brother, propped up against the headboard, Sam's head cradled against his chest. Not having been thoroughly awake to begin with, Dean quickly fell back to sleep.

**oooOOOooo**

Sam was back in the endlessly twisting halls of the Bender house, and this time all four of the family were hunting him. He saw the brothers flanking him on both sides and following him through the house, and he knew the father was behind him; he could feel the hot, rancid breath on the back of his neck. He turned a corner and saw Missy standing in front of him.

Little Missy, whose hair was long and soft brown, now tangled in knots, her formerly gentle and pretty face twisted into a mad grin. Sam felt sorrow for the little girl whose family had let her become this twisted, evil thing; she should have been outside playing in the sun, laughing, but here she was in the darkness with a knife in her tiny hand.

Preoccupied with his desolate thoughts, Sam had let himself be surrounded. Too late, he realized that there was no escape. He whirled around, but every exit was blocked by a menacing figure, grown to towering heights in his fear. The blades they held sparkled with a sickening light, the edges shiny and red with bright crimson blood. The stench, sounds, and sights of his nightmare were overpowering, and Sam's knees buckled. He sank to the floor, gasping, tears shining on his cheeks as he tried to prepare himself for whatever these freaks had in their sick, twisted minds.

Then Dean was beside him. His brother stood in front of him, and it seemed to Sam that he glowed with an internal fire. The Benders shrank back, shielding their eyes, and in the blink of an eye, were gone.

Dean looked back at Sam and grinned crookedly, then winked and disappeared.

The halls of the Benders house began to straighten and fade, the scratchy music bacame soothing and gentle, and the smell of blood was replaced by a fresh spring breeze. He found himself in the safest place he could think of: the back yard of their home in Lawrence, sitting on the lawn in the shade of the old tree.

Sighing in his sleep, Sam edged closer to Dean, whose arm closed instinctively around his brothers' shoulder.

**oooOOOooo**

Three days later saw the two brothers well on the mend and itching for their next adventure.

As they walked out into the bright sunshine, Sam knew that, even though most of the nightmares had been exorcised, there would always be a bit of darkness inside him.

**oooOOOooo**

A/N: Okay, not _quite_ the ending I had in mind, but I couldn't leave you guys twisting in the wind any longer. Hope you enjoyed, and hope my muse comes out to play a little more, shy little twerp that she is, hehehe. (Just a note, I'm going to Pensacola for a few weeks, but should be back and able to write more after that, 'cause I still have a winter story on the burner from December!)


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